


But we wait for the wave just to wash it away

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s looking for Professor River Song, the one who ran. The one he hurt so badly with his stupidity and his callous words that he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to make it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But we wait for the wave just to wash it away

**Author's Note:**

> Angst for the Doctor and River’s anniversary today because I love you all that much. Story title from Just Be by Paloma Faith.

He keeps finding the wrong her.

 

Well, not wrong so much as not quite right; he loves every single version of River that waltzes into his path, those delightful hips swaying, be it a River so young she still blushes when he winks at her, or halfway through her prison sentence and so wild he can barely keep up with her. But those Rivers aren’t the one he’s looking for. He’s looking for Professor River Song, the one who ran. The one he'd hurt so badly with his stupidity and his callous words that he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be able to make it right.

 

He’s been searching for her for months, and the TARDIS, who is more cross with him than she’s ever been, isn’t helping. In fact, he’s pretty sure she’s hindering his search on purpose, bringing him to versions of River who haven’t done Manhattan yet. At first it was so good to see her, a River who smiled and kissed him and would forgive him anything – but eventually it had started to weigh heavily on his shoulders. He has said and done horrible things, and to her in particular. He doesn’t deserve her smiles or her kisses, and he certainly doesn’t deserve her forgiveness.

 

After months of the TARDIS redirecting him to the not-quite-right Rivers, the Doctor is a hollow shell of a man, verging on frantic as he searches desperately for a River who will understand when he falls down at her feet and begs her to let him fix everything in any way that she’ll let him.

 

He lands the TARDIS again, letting the ship jostle him about as she settles outside the building where River teaches at Luna. Straightening his coat and scrubbing a hand over his stubbled face, the Doctor starts for the doors and pushes them open, praying to the Universe itself that this time he’s found her. He steps outside and looks around, hearts pounding as he spots that unmistakable head of hair striding right toward him.

 

The moment he sees her face, his hearts sink.

 

It isn’t her.

 

This River is still a student here, not teaching.

 

Despair filling him, the Doctor does his best to paste on a smile, silently wondering if he’ll ever see his wife again. Holding out his arms in greeting as she approaches, he calls, “Hello, Melody Pond!”

 

She stops in front of him, curls bouncing. “River.”

 

“Quite right.” He bops her nose and watches with an ache in his chest as she wrinkles it. “River Song – the woman who saved my life.”

 

Rolling her eyes, River shifts her books from one arm to the other. “That’s not quite how I remember it.”

 

“Funny, because that’s exactly what happened.” He smiles softly at her but it must look as hollow as it feels because River tilts her head, the merriment leaving her eyes as she studies him.

 

“Are you alright, Doctor?”

 

“Always.” He beams at her, cheeks aching, and takes her books from her. “Let me escort you to class, Ms. Song?”

 

River looks pleased, slipping her arm through his, and he’s grateful for these small opportunities to make her smile, to make up for all the times he has made her cry. It’s not nearly enough, but right now, it’s all he has.

 

-

 

It’s two weeks after Manhattan before he realizes River was right; one psychopath in the TARDIS for any length of time is more than enough. River is patient and enduring where he is moody, sullen and snappish. She makes his grieving seem childish and unnecessary in the face of her calm façade and slowly; it begins to grate on him until he can barely stand to be near her at all. When he is, he picks fights, just to see if he can get her to rise to the bait. It becomes a daily routine – him shouting at her and River replying coolly, like a mother dealing with her troubled child.

 

It infuriates him, and his fury makes him cruel.

 

“I could have saved them! If you hadn’t pushed her into -”

 

“Stop it.” She looks at him from across the console, grip white-knuckled on the zigzag plotter, her voice quiet but firm. She is his calm in the storm, and the more he rages at her, the more peaceful she becomes. River doesn’t lash out the way he does, would never think of hurting him on purpose. He forgets sometimes that her silence is sometimes just as dangerous. “Blaming me won’t bring them back, my love.”

 

She’s doing it again – protecting him from himself, trying to keep him from feeling guilty later, once he’s had time to calm down. He growls and whirls away from her, flinging his sonic across the room viciously and turning back again just in time to see River’s face morph from a brief flinch back into the passive expression that drives him mad. He doesn’t even have time to feel victorious over the change and he attacks again. “You should have taken Rory back – you had the manipulator. Why didn’t you take him back?”

 

“With the time distortions, I barely got through on my own – I couldn’t risk taking Rory with me!”

 

“You could have tried!”

 

“And what? Killed us both?” Her jaw tightens and her eyes burn as she looks at him, and he feels triumphant as he watches her finally break. “It would have been just you and Amy then. I suppose that would have made you happy. The Raggedy Doctor and his little Amelia -”

 

He slams his hand down on the console – hard. “How dare you -”

 

“Go on, Doctor.” River lifts her chin, gaze challenging. “Say it.”

 

-

 

Weeks pass and he continues to find only Rivers young enough to smile at him, throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless, but never the River he wants to find – the River who hates him. He becomes so single-minded in his pursuit that he stops adventuring, stops sleeping, stops doing anything that doesn’t involve finding his wife. As a result, when the TARDIS next lands and he stumbles out, River stands at the bars of her cell and gapes at him.

 

“Sweetie? Are you alright?”

 

Looking around the darkened hall wearily, shoulders slouching as he realizes he has once again found a version of his River that hasn’t done Manhattan yet, he nods once and mumbles, “Always alright.”

 

He approaches her cell slowly, his steps echoing in the empty corridor, and he can’t quite meet her eyes, cannot look at the woman serving time for him and know that he never manages to make her time in here worth it. He never manages to be worthy of her sacrifice. When he’s close enough, River snakes a hand between the bars and cups his cheek with gentle fingers, startling him into looking up. The moment his eyes meet hers – concerned, loving, all the things he has no right to anymore – his eyes fill up and he glances away again, breathing in shakily.

 

“Rule one,” she whispers, thumb stroking his cheek.

 

He smiles briefly, unable to stop himself from leaning into her touch, knowing he doesn’t deserve her comfort but starved for it all the same. “Just a bad day.”

 

Her thumb catches the corner of his eye and he steals another glance at her, watching her gentle smile tremble just a bit around the edges. “You too?”

 

Instantly pushing away his own guilt to be dealt with in solitude later, the Doctor pulls away from her touch and reaches into his pocket for his sonic. The cell door opens with the whir of a button, and the moment he steps inside, River is in his arms. He holds her close and buries his face in her hair, breathing her in as she clings to him as if afraid he might disappear. “Where are we, wife?”

 

Her grip on him tightens at the endearment. “It’s over now – you, my parents, none of you will know who I am from now on.”

 

“Demon’s Run,” he whispers instantly.

 

River nods against his chest. “I thought I had more time.”

 

Pulling her with him to her little cot in the corner of her cell, he says, “You do have more time. What do you call this, you silly woman? Your husband’s come to visit you, and I know for a fact you’ll see your parents quite often.”

 

“I know.” She curls into his side, her head on his shoulder, fist still tightly clenched into his jacket. “It’s just – the way Rory looked at me when he came to ask for my help. He barely knew me and I don’t think I ever realized how much it would hurt when the time came.”

 

He presses a kiss into her hair, a lump forming in his throat.

 

River fiddles with one of the buttons on the waistcoat beneath his jacket and breathes out quietly. “But, you know, all I could think about was you.”

 

“Me?” He frowns.

 

She nods, tilting her head to look up at him. “I kept picturing what your face might look like without an ounce of recognition in your eyes when you look at me – when you don’t even know my name. I don’t know how I’ll survive it.”

 

His hearts squeeze in his chest and he thanks the Universe that River looks away then, burying her face in his neck. Tears sting his eyes and he gathers her into his arms until she’s nearly on his lap, her lashes brushing his Adam’s apple. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I ruined your life and then I made it worse – putting you through this backwards marriage when I should have just walked away -”

 

“Could you have?” She raises her head again, green eyes searching his face. “Could you have just walked away from me?”

 

“I could do anything,” he promises, nose bumping hers, “if it meant you were happy.”

 

“I am happy.” She smiles, resting her hand against his cheek again and looking right into his eyes. “I wouldn’t change it, my love. Not one line.”

 

He swallows, feeling like a fraud and a failure under that trusting gaze. “One day, you might change your mind.”

 

“ _Never_ ,” she whispers fiercely, refusing to even entertain the possibility as she leans in and kisses him, her mouth warm and soft, steadfast where he is hesitant. The urge to pull away, to shout at her to run now while she still can – before he shatters her completely – is overwhelming, but he only kisses her harder to stifle the warning she would never heed anyway. He holds River to him and when she pushes him back onto her cot, her hands urgent and needy as she fumbles with his clothes, he yields to her wishes, making his touches tender and remorseful, silent apologies for words she hasn’t heard yet.

 

-

 

River’s eyes are cold and the way she stands before him, shoulders straight and fists clenched screams that she is on the defensive but he’s too angry, too wrapped up in his grief to notice. “Go on, sweetie,” she says, voice utterly devoid of its usual flirtatious warmth.

 

That alone is almost enough to stop him in his tracks, to pull her into his arms and kiss the tension from her frame. He doesn’t move, muttering, “Forget it.”

 

Arms crossed over her chest, she shakes her head. “No, I want you to say it. Tell me you blame me for what happened – for writing the book to bring you there; for not being clever enough to find a way out of it; for being unable to rewrite time, and stupidly human enough to break my own wrist instead. I _failed_ you. You’re thinking it, so just go ahead _say it_.”

 

“I wasn’t -”

 

She shakes her head quickly, lips pursed and frame so taut with tension that she’s nearly vibrating. “Don’t. Don’t treat me like I’m some fragile companion. I can take it; I’m your _wife_ -”

 

“For god’s sake, River. It didn’t count!” He shouts the words so loudly they echo, bouncing around the control room and back to him as he watches the color drain from her face. “A wartime ceremony in an aborted timeline isn’t a real marriage!”

 

River looks at him as if he’d just struck her as hard as he could. He might as well have. In his long life, there have been some things he doesn’t look back on with regret until much time has passed and allowed him a new perspective, to see how badly he handled a situation, to ruminate on things he shouldn’t have said. This is not one of those times. The shame and regret choke him instantly, and the words reverberate in his head on loop – words he wishes he could shove back into his mouth and shut away in the dark part of himself he likes to pretend doesn’t exist. But he can’t – he'd said them, and River looks at him now with shocked tears in her eyes, like he’s worse than any monster she’s ever faced. He cannot take back those words and he knows with a sickening sense of dread that nothing will ever be the same.

 

They stare at each other for a long moment – not even the TARDIS stirs in the painful silence. Then, in the span of one breath to the next, River blinks and the devastated expression is gone as if it had never been at all, the mask of indifference firmly in place once more. This, more than anything, stirs the Doctor into action. “River -” He tries quietly, hoarsely.

 

She shakes her head once, sharply, and the rest of his pathetic attempt to apologize stalls in his throat, forming a lump big enough to choke him. “If you didn’t want it to count,” she begins, and stops, her voice wavering, but she pushes on, a tower of strength and calm even in her heartbreak, the way he could never quite manage,“all you had to do was say so.”

 

He watches her flip open the vortex manipulator that seems to be permanently strapped to her wrist and his hearts drop, but he can’t move or speak, frozen with regret.

 

Even now, she won’t let him see her cry. Back straight and eyes dry, she looks at him as if in a daze or a nightmare she can’t escape. “From this moment on, consider yourself a free man again. Goodbye, sweetie.”

 

She presses a button just as he finally snaps out of it and leaps forward to grab her, shouting, “River, no!” She disappears in a crackle of electricity and he’s left grasping at thin air, suffocating panic rising in his chest. She’s gone. He’d said horrible, awful things to her, the way he always seems to in his anger, but the day has finally come – he has said something so unforgiveable that he has broken her. His wife, the woman who tore the universe apart to tell him how very much he was loved, the woman who spent half of her life in prison to protect him, has given up on him and left.

 

He calls her name again, sure that she isn’t really gone. Surely she knows he didn’t mean it. His River, more than anyone knows that he doesn’t always mean what he says. Rule One. Afraid to move, he stands in the control room and waits for her to return, to come out of hiding and call him a liar. He isn’t sure how long he stands there, willing her to come back, but the only sound to reach his ears is his own labored breathing and the reproachful hum of the TARDIS.

 

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. Long after the raw scent of the vortex and River’s perfume has faded, he repeats himself, a mantra that no one hears but him.

 

_I didn’t mean it._

 

-

 

When he leaves River in Stormcage once more, he retreats far into the TARDIS to their bedroom and curls up on their bed, surrounded by her scent and her things. He buries his face in her pillow and sleeps for the first time in weeks, dreaming of words spoken in the heat of anger and River’s face as he said them. He wakes feeling older, his ancient bones aching and his eyes bleary and tired.

 

He can’t keep on like this, an apology forever on the tip of his tongue for a woman he hasn’t yet wronged. He can’t keep looking at her younger self and knowing that one day he’s going to break her heart. They must fix this. Why would she make him promise not to change anything in the Library if the only thing he ever gave her was heartache? He’s going to get her back and he’s going to spend the next seven centuries making it up to her in every way he can.

 

Slowly, with renewed determination, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Please, Old Girl,” he whispers. “It’s time. Let me see my wife. Let me make it right, if I can.”

 

When he steps out of TARDIS and onto the grounds of Luna University once more, he’s sure the Old Girl has taken him to a younger River again, but when he sighs and begins to walk the halls with hunched shoulders and weary steps, he hears River’s voice – her Teaching Voice, he likes to call it.

 

Smiling widely and with hope flaring brightly in his chest, the Doctor walks a little faster, a spring in his step. He finds her classroom with ease, following the sound of her voice and finding the door open just a crack. He leans in and peeks through to catch a glimpse of her. Her back is to him, gesturing at a hologram at the front of the class, but the moment she turns back to her students and he sees her face, his breath catches painfully in his chest. He knows River like the back of this regeneration’s hand – by the set of her shoulder, the age of her eyes, the curl of her hair. He can tell that she is post-Manhattan as easily as he can recall that he has three freckles on the back of his left hand.

 

Hearts pounding, he drinks in the sight of her and quietly panics as every word of his rehearsed apology flies from his head. He cannot remember the exact wording of the speech he planned to say as he begged for forgiveness, or the amazing date he would promise to make it up to her. He can only remember her white face, the tremble of her hand as she opened her vortex manipulator. Nothing he says or does will ever make up for that. But he has to try.

 

The sound of voices pulls him from his self-loathing and he glances through the door to see River’s students gathering their things and standing to leave. River stands at her desk, rifling through her notes, her head down and her curls falling into her eyes. He hesitates, fretting over whether he should walk in now or wait, follow her back to her home in hopes of a little privacy and that she won’t throw him out.

 

The brief hesitation costs him his chance, and as the door opens to let out River’s students, a dark-haired middle-aged man with strangely bright blue eyes appears behind him wearing a leather jacket and rather tight trousers, tall and muscled enough to make the Doctor stand up a little straighter and sniff unappreciatively.

 

“Excuse me,” Tall, Dark and Muscled says with an amused smile, and slips past the Doctor into the room.

 

Frowning, the Doctor waits for the last of the students to file past him and peers into the classroom to find the man approaching River. Her back is to the door and she hasn’t seen him yet, but the Doctor tenses, ready to jump to her aid if necessary. Tall, Dark and Muscled leans in close to her, his mouth brushing her curls, and the Doctor bristles, scowling darkly.

 

River turns with a wide smile on her face, her hand on his broad chest as she looks up at him. Their body language speaks of an intimacy that makes his blood boil, and as Tall, Dark and Muscled backs River into her desk, she laughs softly and lets him with all the eagerness that she’d let him, not so very long ago.

 

_“Could you have? Could you have just walked away from me?”_

 

Tall, Dark and Muscled leans in with an infuriating smirk, his head bent, and the look in River’s eyes makes the Doctor feel sick with loss. He pushes away from the door and walks quickly back to the TARDIS, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his stomach in knots. The blood rushes in his ears and his hearts pound, but it’s nothing compared to the twin images in his head – the heartbroken River who left him and the smiling River he has just left behind. He'd found her too late, and that man, whoever he is, is making her happier than he had ever managed.

 

He only just makes it back to the TARDIS before his stomach finally rebels and he heaves all over the Gallifreyan welcome mat, his hands shaking and _ex-wife_ an unwelcome litany in his head.

 

_“I could do anything, if it meant you were happy.”_

 

-

 

After that, he stops looking for River. He leaves her to her new life and tries to forget that, for a while, she was his and no one else’s. He lives on a cloud in the sky, shutting out the universe and shutting himself away with memories and regrets. Despite the best efforts of Vastra, Jenny and Strax, the Doctor is determined to live out the remainder of his life in this solitude.

 

Unfortunately for him, the universe isn’t quite done with him yet.

 

He finds Clara – or rather, Clara finds him – and together, they run. She reminds him so much of his granddaughter that, for a time, his hearts are a little lighter and the running is fun again, rather than something he did alone, without a hand to hold. But he never forgets that his wife ( _ex-wife_ , his traitorous mind whispers) is out there, without him, and all the better for it. He never sleeps in their bedroom anymore, leaving it instead as a museum of brighter days, and he never speaks of her, but she is always there, haunting his footsteps.

 

He almost lets himself believe that he can go on this way forever, never seeing River again and never getting the chance to take back the things he said, but forever free to stew in his guilt and shame just as he deserves. But the TARDIS has other ideas. When he drops Clara off at home once more to look after her charges, he decides to while away a bit of time tinkering under the console, before jumping ahead a few days and picking her up again.

 

Taking off his coat, he drapes it over the console and just finishes rolling up his shirtsleeves before the TARDIS jolts into flight. He yelps, turning to grip a lever for balance and scowls up at the time rotor. “Fine, we’ll pick her up now,” he grumbles.

 

It’s a bumpy flight and he strokes his fingers reverently over the stabilizers but does not push them. When the Old Girl lands, he leaves his coat on the console and strides to the doors, throwing them open and ready to distract himself by taking Clara somewhere amazing and strange and filled with lots of adventure. Instead of stepping out to see Clara waiting for him, he steps into a flowerbed outside a familiar cottage and he freezes, paling instantly.

 

“No,” he breathes, and turns on his heel to flee back into the TARDIS.

 

The doors shut in his face.

 

Growling, he pushes at them, tries pulling just to appease her, and then finally presses his forehead to the wood and begs quietly, “Don’t do this to me, Old Girl. Open up and we’ll go have an adventure - what do you say?”

 

The TARDIS hums her disapproval.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut. “She’s better off without me.”

 

Another hum, this one of skeptical disbelief.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

The Doctor turns at the sound of her voice, hearts in his throat. She stands on her porch dressed in jodhpurs and a button up shirt that might have been his once upon a time, before she'd claimed it as her own. Her bare foot taps against the porch, arms crossed over her chest as she looks down the steps at him. He looks up at her in silence for a long moment, drinking her in greedily. It’s been so long and his memory hadn’t done her justice – she is lovelier, brighter and altogether just _more_ than he remembers.

 

River clears her throat pointedly and he blinks, glancing away. “I was just… talking to the TARDIS.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “You mean _trying to run away_?”

 

He ducks his head. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

 

“I always want to see you,” she says softly, uncrossing her arms and watching him guardedly. “But you certainly don’t have to stay. I’m not your obligation anymore.”

 

He glances up sharply, stunned. “You are many things, River, but you have _never_ been an obligation.”

 

Lips pursed, she leans against her porch rail and studies her nails. “I was so upset when I left you, so angry and heartbroken.” His hearts clench and she looks up with a rueful smile. “But it’s been six months since then, and I finally understand why you were so angry; you never had a choice like I did.”

 

Bewildered, he stares at her. A choice?

 

“I was so young when I met you – so absolutely mad for you.” Her eyes are far away and her smile is pained, as if remembering hurts. “I wanted to be yours so badly, and you – I suppose you felt guilty. You’re always saying how you ruined my life. You can imagine how ridiculous I felt when I realized that was all that was tying you to me.”

 

The words coming out of her mouth are so completely bizarre that the Doctor can only gape at her and entertain the idea that perhaps his River has been swapped with a rather dense duplicate. He resists the urge to flip open his sonic and scan her for abnormalities.

 

She squares her shoulders and looks away. “I don’t want your guilt, Doctor. You’re forgiven – always and completely, remember?”

 

He stares at her in silence for a long moment, until she risks a glance at him and he sees in her eyes just how brave she’s being, sending him away and telling him he can roam the universe with a clear conscience. He sees once again how selfless and _good_ his River is, letting him go because she thinks it’s what he wants. He can’t decide if he wants to cry or kiss her. This is not how he thought their confrontation would go. He thought River would be angry and shout, perhaps even try to shoot him, but instead he only sees what she wants him to see – the cool composure as she gives him up. Sometimes, she is so like her mother that it scares him.

 

He makes a soft, growling noise in the back of his throat and grips his hair as she blinks at him. “You are absolutely, without a doubt, the most maddening, stubborn, stupid woman I have ever met in any of my lives!”

 

Eyes widening, River opens her mouth to retort but the Doctor is furious and not nearly finished.

 

“You think I married you out of guilt? You think I stayed all these years _out of guilt_? Do you have any idea how often I run from things I don’t want? From _marriages_ I don’t want? I’m an expert in leaving brides at the altar – I could write a book! In fact, I might have already! What I _don’t_ do, River Song, is spend centuries with a woman whom I don’t love because I feel responsible for her -”

 

“What is it, then?” She asks, voice breaking. “Because if you wanted to be married to me, you had a very strange way of showing it.”

 

He drops his head, staring at the grass beneath his feet and remembering River’s words to him all that time ago, when she left – _I failed you_. She’d been so very wrong. _He_ has failed her, over and over again. He just hadn’t realized how much until now, with her standing in front of him and so sure he doesn’t love her, that she is nothing more than an obligation.

 

River watches him sadly. “It’s time to stop fooling ourselves – we were doomed from the start, my love. A thousand-year-old Time Lord with commitment issues and blood on his hands, and the woman meant to kill him?” She laughs softly, and the sound is hollow and painful to his ears. "The only reason we lasted as long as we did is because we hardly ever saw each other - and when we did, it was always running and adventures and -"

 

“River, stop it.”

 

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

 

Her eyes silently plead with him to prove her wrong, to fix what she clearly believes to be unfixable. “I asked you to stay with me, River.”

 

She shakes her head. “You wanted me to stay when my parents were on board. The moment they were gone you did everything you could to push me away and finally get rid of me.”

 

The amount of frustration and anger at his own inability to communicate finally pushes the Doctor over the edge and he leaps forward and reaches for her, his face white. River struggles, but he holds her wrist tightly and yanks her into him, forcing her to look at him as he says lowly, “You can blame me all you want, tell me what a rubbish husband I was – I know that I was. But don’t you ever, ever try to tell me I don’t love you, River Song. Not ever.”

 

She stares up at him, eyes wide.

 

Softening a little, he loosens his grip on her wrist but doesn’t let go. “Every time I asked you to stay, every time I begged you not to go back to Stormcage, you turned me down. I’d have given anything to have you with me but you left, River. I think we both know who was terrified to have a real marriage, and it certainly wasn’t me -”

 

The stinging slap she delivers to his cheek is almost welcome.

 

He works his jaw silently, feeling the burn of her handprint on his cheek as she glares up at him with tears in her eyes, and almost smiles. There she is. His River.

 

The sound of her palm meeting his flesh rings in the air as he releases her wrist, turning on his heel to pace away from her. River watches him, tense and silent on her porch steps, both of them stewing in silence until he finally looks up and asks, “Six months?”

 

She frowns.

 

He makes an impatient noise. “You said six months. It’s been six months for you.”

 

When she nods, he runs a hand through his hair, silently thanking the Old Girl that River didn’t have to wait quite as long as he did. He’s glad that _someone_ is always looking out for her. It certainly hasn’t been him.

 

“You’ve been away longer, I’d wager.” She eyes him in that calculating way she always does that used to drive him mad because it meant he could never hide anything from her but now he’s just grateful he doesn’t have to say it out loud.

 

“I didn’t want to be. I looked for you for a long time – the TARDIS refused to cooperate.” River throws a fond, grateful glance over his shoulder to the TARDIS, far more warmth in her eyes for the Old Girl than he’s seen directed at him since before Manhattan. It’s a disheartening realization and he clears his throat, hand fluttering to his bow tie reflexively. “Do you – do you want me to go?”

 

“Do _you_ want to go?” She toes at the ground with her bare foot and affects an air of nonchalance, as if she doesn’t care one way or the other if he stays or if he leaves.

 

“Never,” he admits softly. “But if it’s what you want – if it means you’ll be free to find someone who deserves you, then I’ll fly away and won’t look back.”

 

Raising her head, River meets his gaze steadily, her eyes bright with fury. “You idiot, I don’t want someone else.” She blinks, angry tears slipping down her cheeks and he can’t remember the last time he saw her cry – possibly when she was still in University. “I want you.”

 

He stares at her helplessly. “You have me!”

 

“No, I never had you.” Her hands curl around the porch railing until her knuckles are white but not once does her gaze waver from his. Her every word is like a punch to his chest but he deserves each blow, and his eyes never leave her face as, finally, River lets him see the damage. “I had a husband who used me as his verbal punching bag when things went wrong. I had a husband who went years at a time without thinking to visit. I had a husband who denied he ever married me at all. I know you can be better than that – I’ve seen it.”

 

Tears in his eyes and choking on bile that tastes like acid in his throat, he curls his hand around her white-knuckled grip and says hoarsely, “Tell me how to fix this.” It’s what he does – he fixes things and does his best to live up to a name he never asked for. But this is different, and he is so out of his depth that he doesn’t even know where to begin. He needs River, his North Star in all things.

 

She wipes at her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. “You can’t fix everything, sweetie.”

 

She might as well have extended a personal challenge. He straightens his bowtie and stands a little taller. “I can fix this.”

 

“Two weeks without a life-threatening situation and our marriage fell apart – what does that tell you about us?” She shakes her head. “Some things are meant to stay broken.”

 

“No, I refuse to believe that. And I _know_ you, River. You don’t believe that either.”

 

She bites her lip. “I do now.”

 

Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair and whirls away from her, breathing deeply even as on the inside, he panics. He has to fix this. He can’t walk away without her, not now and not ever again. “I’m trying, River,” he says softly, his back still to her. He can feel her eyes on him. “But you’ve got to help me. I’m a slow old man and I don’t know what to do.” He turns again, looking at her pleadingly. “What do you want?”

 

“What do I want?” She laughs hollowly. “My love, I have only ever wanted your kindness and your patience – the things you offer so readily to complete strangers but find so difficult to give me.”

 

He stares at her for a long moment before finally letting out a hysterical sound somewhere between a humorless laugh and a sob. River looks startled but she doesn’t back away, watching him warily as he says, “I’ve done it, haven’t I? Without even trying I managed to do what no one else ever could – not even Kovarian. You hate me.”

 

Her face crumples and she shakes her head quickly as tears fill her eyes. “Oh my love, no one could ever make me hate you. Not even you.”

 

“Then help me, River.” He bounds up the stairs and she doesn’t even have time to stumble back before he’s gripping her shirttails and all but begging, “Help me fix this.”

 

She studies him carefully, those green eyes that see positively everything – his faults and foibles, all the shadowy places he hides from everyone else – and he can’t help but wonder what she has ever seen that makes her give him a chance over and over again but she nods tentatively and asks, “Would you like to come in? I could make tea.”

 

The hesitant words are so unlike his River that it’s all he can do to keep from gathering her into his arms and not letting go until she’s his confidence, sassy, gun-slinging wife once again. But he only unclenches his hands from her shirt and clears his throat, gesturing. “Lead the way then.”

 

Her home is an eclectic mix of brand new antiques, her own dusty archaeological finds, and alien knick-knacks that usually the Doctor can’t manage to keep himself from fiddling with but today his hands stay firmly in his pockets.

 

River wrings her hands in a manner entirely uncharacteristic and asks, “Your usual?”

 

He nods, edging around the room and noticing almost instantly that there aren’t any pictures of him – not even the one she always kept on the mantle of the two of them in 46th century Paris that she claimed was her favorite. “Actually,” he whirls to face her and he can see in her eyes that she knows he’d noticed. “I think I’ll make the tea.”

 

Her gaze softens, just a bit. “Alright.”

 

Feeling a bit like he’s somehow done something more than offer to make tea – like he’s on his way to fixing things in some bizarre, River way – the Doctor slips past her to the kitchen and pauses only briefly to cup his hand around her elbow and brush his nose against her hair, breathing her in like a man starved. River trembles against him, breathing out shakily, and he lets go with a lump in his throat, turning without a word to disappear into the kitchen.

 

He potters about for a while, telling himself that he isn’t stalling as he looks through cupboards and contemplates fixing that leaky sink, wondering all the while how tea is going to fix his marriage. Perhaps he should tinker with his sonic settings – he could really use a relationship app. He’s rubbish at them on his own. Finally, he pulls out two mugs and decides that he’ll drink from the one with the chip in it and give River the nicer, prettier one. Married people do that, don’t they? Sacrifice for the other?

 

River has always been so much more willing to sacrifice than he has.

 

_Tap-tap._

 

The Doctor glances up sharply, looking around the room for the source of the noise.

 

_Tap-tap._

 

Identifying it as the sound of knuckles on a windowpane, he turns his gaze to the back door and his eyes widen instantly. Standing on the other side of the door and grinning cheekily at him is Tall Dark and Muscled. “You!”

 

He motions for the Doctor to open the door and in a daze, he does. Hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, the man rocks back on his heels and says, “Hello again. Been a while, hasn’t it? Blimey that chin.” He rubs at his own almost gratefully and the Doctor scowls.

 

“You’re here to see River, I imagine,” he says, sniffing. “Well she’s busy. In fact, I think she’ll be busy for a very long time so perhaps you should run along back to your undoubtedly vintage motorcycle and come back never.”

 

The man offers a dimpled grin. “You’re the ex-husband.”

 

Hearts stopping, the Doctor stares at him. “Ex? She said ex?” Mouth dry, he licks his lips and slouches against the counter, wondering how he’ll ever make things right again when he clearly has so much to make up for.

 

Tall Dark and Muscled shrugs. “You fucked up, mate.”

 

“Yes.” He wrinkles his nose at the colorful turn of phrase but cannot deny its accuracy. “I did. Very much so.”

 

“And you think…” He glances around the kitchen, spotting the tea mugs and the kettle set out. “Making tea is going to magically fix it?”

 

“Of course not,” he scowls. “But it’s a start. What do you know anyway?”

 

That grin is really starting to get on his nerves but before the Doctor can contemplate throwing him out, it’s gone, a solemnity in its place that by contrast is startling enough to silence him. “A long time ago, I was as rubbish at marriage as you are now but I got better. What I do know is that you need to stop hiding in the kitchen, get your remarkably skinny arse back out there, get down on your knees and beg that woman to have mercy on your worthless soul.” He steps closer to the Doctor until they’re almost touching and he can smell the leather of his jacket and look right into blue eyes so intense it’s all he can do to stand his ground. “She is precious and you are to cherish every second she chooses to be with you – god knows why she does. Be good to her, do you understand me? Be the best man you know how to be.”

 

The Doctor nods slowly, swallowing hard.

 

“Good.” The infuriating grin is back but the Doctor is almost glad to see it. “Now instead of tea, start with an apology.”

 

Frowning, the Doctor nods again and turns on his heel, for a moment thinking only of River waiting for him and how badly he just wants to hold her in his arms again before a sudden thought occurs to him and he pivots on his heel just before he reaches the living room. “Hang on. How did you -”

 

The kitchen is empty.

 

Outside, he hears a familiar wheezing.

 

The Doctor sighs wearily. “I hate it when I do that.”

 

When the sound fades away, he walks back into the living room with renewed energy and determination to find River sitting on the sofa, a ball of anxiety. She looks up in relief when she hears him and then furrows her brow. “Where’s the tea?”

 

“I lost it.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “You lost the tea.”

 

“Actually, I never made it.” Might as well start with the honesty now and make a habit of it. “I found an epiphany instead. Those are much better.”

 

“Depends on the epiphany.” He crosses the room slowly, his older self’s words ringing in his ears as he sinks to his knees in front of her, eyes never leaving her face. “Doctor, what -”

 

“It counted. It always counted.” He reaches for her hands and she inhales sharply, looking down at him with glossy eyes. “I’m sorry, River. For saying it didn’t in the first place, for being so rubbish at showing you how much you mean to me. I know I put all my anger on you, but I do that because you’re you – my wife, my equal. You’re allowed to see what no one else does. I trust you to see the me I hate.” He stops, swallowing. Her fingers tremble in his grasp and he bends his head, kissing them reverently. “But lately you’ve seen that me too often and I’m sorry. I forget, I suppose, that you’re not as invincible as you want me to believe.”

 

River blinks tearfully but doesn’t speak. For once, he’s the one to make her speechless and it’s a nice change. He’s going to have to do it more often – under happier circumstances, of course.

 

“But you’re my wife in every way that counts – in my hearts and soul and mind – but if you want more, I’ll marry you again in this universe and any other one we can find -” His voice shakes and before he can utter another word, River yanks her hands from his. Before he has time to despair, she throws her arms around his neck, sliding from the sofa and onto the floor to join him. The Doctor chokes back a relieved sob and wraps his arms tightly around her, pulling her into his lap and quite sure that he’ll never be able to let go again. He presses kisses and apologies into her curls and River threads her fingers through his hair, lifting his head to kiss him properly.

 

The fierce, desperate meeting of their mouths after all this time, after all the hateful words said, is enough to bring tears to his eyes. He cradles River to his chest, tasting tears and ancient dust, time and an unshakeable love that humbles him. Tongue sliding against hers, he sifts his fingers through her hair and clings to her, overwhelmed and grateful for everything his remarkable wife is. His previous terror and remorse coupled with his relief and love must bleed through because River stifles a whimper against his lips, a trembling cry he feels all the way to his bones.

 

Her fingers slip beneath the collar of his shirt, a warm, tender caress that makes him shiver. Breaking his mouth from hers, he plants kisses along her jaw and beneath her ear, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Forgiven.”

 

He traces his tongue over the shell of her ear. “I love you.”

 

“And I you.”

 

A tear slips down her cheek and he catches it with his lips, savoring the salt on his tongue like the devout savor communion wine. He slides his hands over her back and she arches beneath his touch, as responsive as ever. “I missed you, so, so much, my River.”

 

Her answering kiss, searing and hungry, speaks volumes without words. _Show me._

 

So he does.

 

He lifts her into his arm and carries her to her bedroom down the hall. Spreading her out on the mattress, he doesn’t let her touch him until he has removed every piece of her clothing and whispered his love and an apology to every bare inch of her – a worshipful kiss pressed to her ankles and knees, her belly button and the soft valley between her breasts, the insides of her thighs and the delicate hollow of her throat.

 

When he finally presses inside the welcoming heat between her legs, River cradles him to her as they rock together, loving whispers traded as freely as caresses as their tears mingle and their fingers tangle together. He presses his forehead to hers and even their minds become one, a never-ending circle of love, forgiveness and acceptance – just like them. It feels like a new beginning and he silently promises to make it a good one.

 

They lie together afterwards in a sweaty tangle of limbs, still stealing kisses as their racing hearts begin to slow. The Doctor grins at her and River laughs softly, her fingers trailing over his cheek. “Hello, wife.”

 

Her eyes light up and his smile dims, just a bit. Such a simple word shouldn’t make her so happy.

 

“I was serious, you know.” He turns his head and presses a kiss to her palm. “We could get married again. Do it right this time. “ He brightens. “We’ll even take Clara – my new companion. She can be our witness.”

 

River slips her bare leg between his own and smiles up at him. “I don’t need another wedding, my love. I like the one we had.”

 

“But I could give you a better one -”

 

She shakes her head. “Just knowing you’d marry me again is enough for me.”

 

“Oh, River Song.” He sighs. “I’d marry you over and over again – across galaxies, if you’d let me.”

 

“Sounds tempting.” She grins, positively glowing, and he feels his hearts swell. “Maybe after I get back, I’ll take you up on that generous offer.”

 

Satisfied, he leans over and kisses her softly, humming contentedly against her lips. “Back from where?”

 

She smiles wider, eyes suddenly excited. “I’m going on an expedition tomorrow.”

 

He freezes, the sound of his thundering hearts a horrifying cacophony in his head.

 

No.

 

Not now – not when he just got her back.

 

“An expedition?”

 

River nods eagerly, sitting up on her elbows to look down at him. “To the Library planet.”

 

Of course.

 

His returning smile is a bitter one but in her enthusiasm, River doesn’t seem to notice. She drapes herself over his chest and talks cheerfully into his neck as he runs his hands over her naked back, not really hearing her and doing his best not to grip her tightly and never let go. The universe has taken so much from him and he wants so badly to be selfish – to stand up and shout to the heavens that it _cannot_ have her too.

 

He knows he’ll see her again – Tall Dark and Muscled is proof of that – but he’ll have taken her to the Towers and she’ll be gone, nothing but a living ghost. He suddenly understands with painful clarity his older self’s words. _She is precious_. River and his time with her were so, so precious, and he squandered it all until he had nothing left. His older self had wanted him to cherish these last moments with her – one last memory to keep him warm.

 

_Precious_.

 

River presses her lips to his neck but the Doctor tenses, his mind racing – Clara and Akhaten, Merry and _we don’t walk away_.

 

_Precious_.

 

He remembers his older self’s knowing, bright grin and whispers gleefully, “Oh.”

 

River raises her head, frowning at him. “Doctor?”

 

Taking her face in his hands, he kisses her soundly and whispers only, “You are _so_ precious to me, River Song.”

 

Confused but beaming, she kisses him again. “Ditto, sweetie.”

 

_“But when we’re holding onto something precious, we run and run fast as we can, and we don’t stop running until we are out from under the shadow.”_

 

He holds River’s hand and he runs.


End file.
